


In Bloom

by MohMaya



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Afterlife, Angel Eyes References, Anime Spoilers, Anime Time Period, Canon Compliant, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Multiple Universes, References to Ash's Past, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:49:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29913732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MohMaya/pseuds/MohMaya
Summary: "What is this place?""It's our place. It's called the Flowerbed. It's where every Ash and every Eiji from every world comes to after they die. The universe is kind like that."The universe is kind, huh. Now this Ash had to hear."Kind how?""It puts soulmates together in the Afterlife."---Alternatively: Ash's adventures in the Afterlife as he waits for Eiji, and learns that they were only tragic half the time, got their happy ending sometimes, and loved each other fiercely every single time.
Relationships: Ash Lynx/Okumura Eiji
Comments: 24
Kudos: 53





	1. Truths and Tulips

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Sunday, y'all!
> 
> Wow. So this is happening.
> 
> I've been writing fanfiction for eight years and have finally mustered up the courage to put it out into the world because Banana Fish took my soul and shook it awake and then made it cry for two years. And now I feel the need to make Ash happy in death, because there were so few moments of it in life.
> 
> So please enjoy as I plop all my AU ideas in the same place, try my best to do justice to these lovely characters, and overall attempt to bring some joy to your day.
> 
> General logistical stuff: Hopefully updates every week, and will include content warnings in the notes should things ever come up. Please let me know if I miss any and I'll be happy to add them.
> 
> Okay, enough. Enjoy!

He hadn’t been expecting to open his eyes again.

He was pretty damn sure the dead couldn’t do that.

So naturally, he was rather bewildered when he’d found himself blinking blearily under a bunch of gigantic flowers reaching towards a pink-and-orange sky, still in the same clothes, with one hand clutching Eiji’s letter to his chest and the other pressed over where his stab wound should have been.

_Am I dreaming?_

No. It couldn’t be. He was acutely aware of the air, namely the fact that it was thick with the scent of flowers and earth and rain. The odds of being able to smell in a dream were incredibly low, if any of the studies he’d read were true. There was also no pain, not even the dull ghost of an ache that he often experienced when he slept with a wound somewhere. No, if anything he was feeling sated and heavy, like he was filled with honey. And then of course, there was the matter of him not being able to feel his heartbeat under Eiji’s letter.

_Yup. Definitely not a dream._

_Afterlife then._

_Huh. Who would’ve thought?_

In all honesty, Ash had never believed in a hereafter. Mostly because while he’d been alive, he’d just wanted everything to stop. The guilt, the hurt, the fear, and especially that weird ache that stolen moments of joy left behind. He’d been bone-tired when he was alive, of all the conflicting emotion swirling in his chest and gut and head. Even though he’d never actively wished for death, it’d been somewhat reassuring to know that someday, everything that he’d lugged around on his too-young shoulders would be lifted off him. That’s why he hadn’t really hoped for an afterlife, because if there was something on the other side, well then, all of it’d never really stop, would it?

Then again, now that he was here, he supposed there was some merit to the existence of a great beyond. It meant that he’d get to see everyone again; spend the time they hadn’t had in the living world.

Griffin, Skip, Shorter.

Yes, it would be nice to see them. He’d missed them.

Though he wasn’t sure how much they’d want to see him. Some way or another, it’d been his fault that they’d ended up here instead of… ‘there’.

_Where even is ‘here’ anyway? Am I above or below the living world? Does conventional directionality even apply to a different plane of existence?_

The questions started popping up in his mind as his wits returned to him. He’d already been here for five whole minutes, lying most vulnerably on his back and staring at the strange towering flowers silhouetted against the sunset. He didn’t know where he was, or what to do; the only thing he was even vaguely certain about was that he was lying in a shallow crater of some sort. A part of him wanted to move his arms to check, but the view was so beautiful, and the air sang with the rustling of leaves, and his chest felt so warm where Eiji’s letter was tucked against him. Surely, he was allowed to stay like this for a little while, right? It wasn’t like he needed to have his guard up here, right? Here, at least, no one would hurt him.

Right?

God, he hoped that last part was true. Because if it was; if he really was safe now, then maybe he could see Eiji again too when he came.

It’d be a while before he did though; Ash was certain Eiji was going to live a long and happy life now that he was going to be back in Japan, and he wasn’t around anymore to bring the boy any danger.

Maybe Eiji would live till he was a hundred. That thought brought a smile to his face.

_Yes, he’ll wear his peaceful, comforting smile so very well when he’s a hundred._

He closed his eyes, swapping out the view and the gentle breeze that brushed against his cheeks for the feeling of Eiji pressed up against him, smelling ever so slightly of jasmine and laundry detergent, alone on the roof over Sing’s hideout. He’d still been in that ridiculous oversized doctor’s outfit Max had swiped from the National Institute of Mental Health, feeling exhausted and empty and cold despite the layers. And there was Eiji again, after everything: the fight with Arthur, the terrible stint in the hospital, the horrors of the Institute, pulling him close and resting his head on his shoulder, filling him with his warmth.

Saying he wished Ash would trust him more. Saying that he didn’t want to fight with him. Saying that he was glad Ash was safe.

He’d said that last part after he’d gotten shot too. He’d had the exact same smile on his face.

Ash eyes flew open immediately. Yeah, he didn’t want to entertain that thought any longer. Better to stick to the sky and the weird plants looming over him.

Except now those weren’t the only things in his field of vision anymore.

There was a man, somewhere in his late twenties. He looked vaguely familiar, with close cropped blonde hair and intelligent green eyes. He was dressed comfortable but still classy, like he was going to brunch. He’d been regarding him with a mixture of concern and sorrow; ‘pity’, the poisonous voice in his head whispered, so Ash did the same thing he always did when someone looked at him like that.

“The fuck are you looking at?”

The man blinked, and his eyes hardened, mirroring the scowl on Ash’s face. Okay, now he looked awfully familiar. What the hell was it about him?

“Oh, help. Looks like this one’s a teenager,” the man grumbled, looking off to his left. He scanned the space hidden from Ash’s view for a few moments and then turned back to give him a once over. “What are you, like fifteen?”

“I’m eighteen!” Ash snapped petulantly. “Who the hell are you?”

“Yeah, Bluebell, I think the fall broke this one’s brain,” the man shouted slightly upwards and off to his left, ignoring Ash entirely yet again. “He doesn’t recognize me.”

“Okay, time out, asshole. What the fuck’s going on?” Ash cut in, even as an incoherent shout came from somewhere behind him. As he put his arms out to lift himself off the ground, the man moved automatically to help him. Ash swatted his outstretched hands away. “Paws off, I got it.”

The man smiled a secret sort of smile, holding his hands up in mock surrender as Ash scrambled to get his bearings. “A handful, aren’t you?”

“Shut up and answer the question,” Ash retorted, trying to take stock of his surroundings now that he was upright. He was in a field of yellow-brown grass stretching as far as the eye could see, the blades perpetually caught between alive and dead. Here and there, enormous plants the size of the Chrysler building shot up from the ground. Many of them had blooming flowers, sometimes one; sometimes two, like the sunflower he’d found himself under. Others merely had swollen buds. A few dark blobs dotted the horizon; he guessed those must be residences of some sort.

“Where am I?” he asked again, looking back to Mr. Where-Have-I-Seen-You-Before, who was already getting to his feet. “And who are you? What’s happening?”

“Yeah, sorry, I don’t do the questions,” he replied, smirking. “I was just making sure you didn’t run off somewhere before Bluebell got here.”

“Oh, and who’s Bluebell? They in charge? You work for them?” Ash pressed, unable to decipher whether his need for interrogating this man came from a place of actual curiosity or the instinctual desire to know the specifics of what he had been thrust into so that no one could take advantage of him.

“Don’t worry, kid, it’s not that kind of place, okay?” the man said softly, attempting to pacify him. “It’s the Afterlife; no one ‘works’ for anyone here; it’s just Bluebell doing Bluebell things, at least in our neck of the woods. And trust me, Bluebell’s a good guy.”

Oh, the host of issues that Ash had with all of that.

He took a deep breath, furrowed his brows and fixed the man with his worst glare.

“Okay, first of all, don’t call me kid, asshole. Secondly, everyone has loyalties, Afterlife or not. And while we’re on that, there’s no ‘our neck of the woods’, okay? I don’t know a damn thing about you, and you’re not telling me anything either. Which is exactly why I don’t trust you. And if Bluebell’s half the cagey ass you are, I won’t trust him either. Now get me someone who’ll tell it to me straight and if you can’t do that, then fuck off. I’ll figure it out myself.”

Silence.

Ash exhaled into the tension that saturated the space between them, and the man just blinked at him, completely frazzled. He looked like he didn’t even know where to begin, and Ash felt a small prick of satisfaction at rendering him speechless.

Then, to Ash’s absolute disbelief, he started laughing.

It was a soft muffled sound, leaking through the cracks in his fingers as he pressed both palms to his face, but it was somehow the most irritating thing that had fallen on Ash’s ears in a while.

“Wha-what’s so funny?” he growled, crossing his arms.

“I-it’s just-oh God, dude, you really did break your brain on the fall, huh?” the man stuttered out, still giggling. “You do know me, dude, yeesh, you’re supposed to have better observational skills than that; like how do you not get it-”

Oh, no. Ash had had just about enough of what he was supposed to be capable of. Enough to ignore the fact that the man had claimed that he knew him somehow.

“Listen, asshole-”

“Oh, shut up for a second; you’re acting like a child,” the man said, finally pulling himself together and growing serious for a moment. Ash had a snide remark ready but decided to bite it back just to show he could be mature if he wanted to.

“Just, answer this for me,” the man asked, boring through him with the same intensity that made him feel like he’d seen him somewhere before. “who do you trust?”

“Myself,” Ash replied on reflex. “And…”

Bottomless dark eyes and peaceful smiles came to mind.

“And…”

Warm hugs and oversized sweaters came to mind.

“And…”

Blood-soaked shirts and love-soaked letters came to mind.

“Damn it, Tulip! What did you do?”

_That voice._

It was coming from behind him, and the man, who was apparently named Tulip of all things, was already turning towards it.

_It-it can’t be…._

“I told you not to scare him; why did you start arguing with him?”

Ash couldn’t bear to look. He sounded huffy, like he used to be in the mornings when he wouldn’t get out of bed.

_You…no you’re not here, you can’t be…_

“Honestly, now I don’t feel that bad about burning three of these cookies. You deserve burnt cookies!”

_God, I missed you. I missed you so much._

Ash turned, the last thread of his self-control snapping.

_Oh God, help me._

He was so lovely in the dying light. The waning sun made his skin look almost golden; every bit as ethereal as Ash had always thought he was. His dark locks were a little longer than he remembered, framing his bright face like rocks frame a waterfall. The breeze whipped his bangs out of his eyes, which were flecked with amber and glittered like garnets. He wore a simple white shirt and comfortable jeans, and it occurred to Ash that he’d never realized just how nice his arms looked in half-rolled-up sleeves.

And then there were the wings.

Black as night and twice as enchanting, they spread out from his upper back and stretched for about five feet on either side. From where he was still sitting on the ground, Ash could see each feather as he folded them half-in, and with the way they gleamed, he was sure they’d been crafted from falling stars.

_Of course, you were an angel. No wonder you were so good to me._

“Eiji?”

He’d been handing off a picnic basket to Tulip and scolding the man in his firm but gentle tone, but when Ash whispered his name in incredulity, he turned his mega-watt smile onto him.

His face was friendly, open, accepting.

“Hi, Ash.”

_Oh God, help me._

“Eiji!”

Ash stumbled to his feet, surging towards him in blind desperation. All the frantic energy that had animated his body when he’d seen that plane ticket to Japan and first read that heartfelt letter was back now, propelling him forwards. He’d underestimated how much his legs had been asleep though, and his knees buckled almost immediately, but as usual, Eiji was there to catch him before he fell.

“Careful!” he chided softly, enveloping Ash in a kind embrace as he struggled to gain his footing. “Don’t overexert yourself.”

“Eiji, Eiji, Eiji.”

There were so many other words Ash wanted to say as he buried his head in the crook of his neck; ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘I missed you’ and ‘Please don’t be dead’ and ‘Never leave me again’. They bubbled up within in him, but he couldn’t bring them to his lips. It was too much too soon, and he was distantly aware of Tulip’s amused gaze on the whole scene; he didn’t want to bare himself here with an audience. So, all he said was ‘Eiji’, choosing instead to colour his name with all the complicated feelings that he’d carried around for two years.

Eiji was the love of his life. It was the least he deserved.

_This is amazing. I feel so safe here in your arms._

Ash crushed him closer, scrabbling at his back and sobbing quietly into his shirt for what felt like hours. At one point his fingers closed tightly around something downy and smooth, and Eiji winced.

“Watch the wings,” he said, laughing pleasantly. He rubbed a soothing palm up and down Ash’s back, shushing him and trying to get him to relax. Ash released the feathers in his palms with an embarrassed squeak and mumbled his apologies into Eiji’s neck.

“It’s okay,” he answered softly, petting his hair.

‘It’s okay’, he was saying.

But it wasn’t.

Ash knew it wasn’t.

As giddy and elated as he was to hold Eiji close like this, surrounded by picturesque scenery and peace just like he’d always dreamed, it was absolutely not okay, that Eiji was here.

Because if Eiji was here, then that meant Eiji was dead.

And if Eiji was dead, then that meant he’d failed to do the one thing he was willing to die for; zero hesitation; no questions asked.

If Eiji was dead, then Ash Lynx, the supposed precocious devil of New York was so utterly incompetent that he hadn’t managed to keep the boy he loved safe.

_I won’t let anybody hurt you._

How hollow it sounded now; that promise Ash had made kneeling by Eiji’s bedside.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he whispered, his chest tight as Eiji rubbed circles into his back. “You’re not supposed to be here. Not yet.”

“Ash…”

“You were supposed to go home,” he continued. “You were supposed to be safe, and happy. You were supposed to fly again. I was going to watch you do it.”

“Ash, listen to me for a second…”

“Damn it, Eiji, you were supposed to live!” Ash howled, torn now between pushing Eiji away and pulling him closer. It was back now, the cold sickening weight of yearning that had hounded him in life. “You-you were supposed to- God, what happened; who hurt you; what did I do wrong, this is all my fault; I never should’ve let you stay with me; I’m so fucking selfish—”

“Aslan!”

If Ash had still had a heartbeat; this would’ve been the moment where it skipped a beat.

Eiji’s tone was strict but still pleading; still rounded; still tender. Now that Ash thought about it, there had never been a moment where Eiji had spoken harshly, but there seemed to be a certain tenderness in his manner that had always been reserved just for him, even when he was scolding, and to hear it wrapped once more around the name of the scared little boy that lived within him was enough to stop his spiralling in its tracks, if not dispel it completely.

“Can you look at me, please?”

_Yeah, I can look at you. I could look at you forever. But…it’s not allowed. It can’t be._

Ash lifted his head slowly, the tear-tracks on his cheeks cooling as Eiji meticulously moved stray strands of his hair out of his face, tucking them behind his ears even though they just fell forward again. His hands settled on Eiji’s shoulders, absently smoothing the wrinkles he’d made in the crisply ironed shirt.

When he felt some of the brittleness leave his bones, Ash lifted his gaze and did as Eiji asked, choosing to focus on the hints of honey that the sunset imbued in his eyes, rather than the overwhelming concern that swam in their depths.

“Ash listen to me,” he began. “You are not selfish. If anything, it’s the opposite.”

“But-”

Eiji held up a hand; he wasn’t finished.

“And nothing is your fault, okay? Nothing’s happened for you to blame it on yourself. I-I am-”

He was hesitating; he looked like he didn’t like whatever he was about to say. Ash waited, as Eiji had often done when he was struggling to voice something.

“I’m not your Eiji.”

This would’ve been the second moment where Ash’s heart would’ve skipped a beat, only not in the semi-good way it had before.

Part of him didn’t want to believe it.

_It’s not possible. It’s you. I know you. I know your eyes and your smile and your voice; I know your laugh and your kind hands and the way your clothes…_

The realization hit him like a freight train.

“Your clothes don’t smell like jasmine,” Ash whispered, withdrawing his hands reluctantly.

Not-His-Eiji’s smile was bittersweet.

“No,” he admitted. “No, they do not.”

“Am-am I hallucinating you, then?”

It’d make perfect sense to Ash if he was. This place was everything he’d envisioned in a fantasy hidey-hole away from all the grime and horror of his life. It was serene; scenic in the way only his books described, liberating in the way he’d always wanted to experience; with nothing to do except read and watch sunrises and sunsets as the days rolled idly by.

It would make perfect sense that his brain would insert Eiji in his utopia. He’d fit right in.

“Don’t you think he’d disappear once you became aware of that?”

Ash scowled. He’d almost forgotten about Tulip.

“Tulip!” Not-His-Eiji hissed.

“What? I’m trying to help!” Tulip protested half-heartedly, mostly focused on rummaging through the picnic basket Not-His-Eiji had handed to him before.

“I thought you said you didn’t want to help,” Not-His-Eiji said sourly, as Tulip took out a jar of cookies and stuffed one in his mouth.

“I didn’t say that! I said I didn’t know if I’d be able to help. Big difference.”

“Yes, thank you Tulip, your extensive knowledge of semantics is really helping me put our new arrival at ease.”

That pulled a giggle from Ash.

_For not being Eiji, you sure do sass like him._

“What’s so funny, kid?” Tulip snapped, turning to Ash with an expression half-miffed half-embarrassed. “I’m not the dumbass who can’t recognize anyone.”

“He’s not a kid; you’re only like eight years older than him anyway,” Not-His-Eiji replied before Ash could make any scathing comments. “Besides, it’s not like you were able to figure things out right away either.”

Ash grinned cheekily at Tulip, who seemed even more annoyed that Not-His-Eiji was taking his side. He might’ve made a jab of his own, but the desire to get answers took precedence over that.

“Speaking of figuring things out,” he asked, regaining Not-His-Eiji’s attention. “Can you please tell me what’s going on? If you’re not Eiji, then who are you? And-and why do you have his face?”

_And his personality and his warmth and his uncanny ability to treat me better than I could’ve ever dreamed._

“Ah yes, that I can answer!” Not-His-Eiji said, clapping his hands brightly. It would seem he was confident in his ability to explain things.

“Let’s see…” he muttered, pulling out a little blue book from his back pocket. It had a few page markers sticking out of it, topped with brightly coloured flowers. Ash watched curiously as he flipped to a page tabbed with a sunflower.

“Ah! You’re from U812W24A4567!” Not-His-Eiji chirped, his eyes lighting up for a second before something seemed to occur to him. “Oh, this must be so overwhelming for you!”

Ash couldn’t help but scoff at that. With the way he’d lived, he doubted anything would overwhelm him now. He was about to say as much, but Not-His-Eiji spoke before he could.

“U812W24 doesn’t have winged people, does it? I bet these must be freaking you out,” he said sheepishly, tugging at a stray feather on his wings as he folded them closer to himself, as if trying to make them smaller.

“Don’t be ridiculous. They’re gorgeous.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. They’re gorgeous.”

Ash glanced suspiciously at Tulip, who looked equally peeved to have chimed in chorus with him. Not-His-Eiji looked between them for a moment, then erupted in a fit of soft giggles.

“Well, thank you,” he said airily, a subtle blush settling on his face. “You’re very sweet to think so.”

Now it was Ash’s turn to blush. No one had ever called him sweet, not in the way Not-His-Eiji meant it. He turned away and muttered something about ‘getting on with it already’.

_Stop feeling all warm and smiley. He’s not Eiji. He said so._

“Right so if I’m not mistaken, on U812W24, you have the Many Worlds Interpretation of Quantum Mechanics, correct?”

“If by U812W24, you mean Earth, then yes,” Ash replied, mildly surprised. He’d never thought he’d hear Eiji even mention scientific theories, let alone reference one by name.

“It’s such a dull name; Earth,” Tulip mused, seemingly unaware that he was doing it out loud. “No wonder all your English language literature’s got places with names like Rivendell and Malgudi.”

“Hush, now, don’t be a dingus,” Not-His-Eiji said, swatting at him with a ghost of a smile on his face. “They have other languages there. Plus, it’s his home.”

_No, it’s not. Home is not U812W24 or The Pale Blue Dot or Earth. It’s not Cape Cod or New York or Izumo. Home is Eiji._

“…Ash?”

“Hm?”

“The Many Worlds Theory. Have you heard of it?”

“Yeah, yeah I think so,” Ash replied, searching his brain. “Something about multiple universes existing parallelly in the same space and time?”

“Exactly! Well, the actual situation is somewhat similar to what’s been postulated by that theory,” Not-His-Eiji detailed. “Your Eiji belongs to one particular reality, in one particular universe, so it follows that…”

“There are other Eijis that exist in other realities in other universes!” Ash exclaimed, finally seeing the light.

“Bingo!” Not-His-Eiji said, beaming. “That’s where I factor in. I am _an_ Eiji, just not _your_ Eiji, because I’m from a different universe.”

Ash gasped involuntarily. The revelation brought to the surface a multitude of muddled emotions.

Understanding was one of them. It made sense now, why they looked fundamentally the same except for the slightly longer hair and the wings, and how alike this Eiji was to the one that he had known; why he made him just as awestruck, just as comfortable, just as nervous.

Relief was another. If this Eiji wasn’t his Eiji, then that meant his Eiji was alive and well and back in Japan. His Eiji was going to be okay. And that was a consoling thought. If nothing else, he had the satisfaction of knowing that he’d managed to get Eiji to safety.

These were both good things, but somewhere in the back of his mind, disappointment reared its ugly head. Even though it’d made him incredibly upset before when he had thought Eiji was dead, he’d also been so very glad to be reunited with the one person he never thought he would see again. It was an irrational joy to feel, and he felt weak and stupid for feeling it, but he’d spent every waking moment on Earth trying to distance himself from Eiji because he’d felt that it was best for him. And when it’d seemed that they were both here, far away from everything that had made staying by each other so difficult in life, he’d thought that now he could finally _be_ with Eiji, love him in the way that he’d always wanted; in the way he knew Eiji deserved.

Warm and safe, full of laughter and mutual respect and a deep connection forged through years together, not the threat of untimely death.

Needless to say, it hurt to have that hope dashed against the wall; temporary though he knew the situation was.

“Ash?”

“Sorry, it’s just a lot to take in,” he croaked, shooting Not-His-Eiji what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

“That’s okay,” Not-His-Eiji said kindly. “Take your time to process it. In all seriousness, I’d hoped to drop this particular bomb over a soothing cup of tea like I normally do, but you sounded so upset when you thought the Eiji you knew had died, and I just-I didn’t want you to feel guilty for something that was not your fault; Ashs take on far too much blame as it is during these initial meetings.”

“Wait, there’s other Ashs here?” Ash asked, the idea only just now occurring to him. “You’ve met them?”

“See?” Tulip cried out dramatically, turning to Not-His-Eiji’s slightly confused face. “I told you he doesn’t recognize me.”

“You? You mean you’re…” Ash trailed off in unadulterated astonishment as the pieces clicked into place in his head.

The hair. The eyes. The abrasive façade that cracked when he thought he wasn’t being watched. The familiarity he couldn’t quite place. The obvious bond with Not-His-Eiji.

“No way! You’re me?!” Ash cried out, unable to keep the absolute disbelief from his voice as he looked over Tulip again. Now that he was looking for it, he could see the resemblance; in his cheekbones and the way he held himself; in his literature references and practiced glowers.

_Huh. It’s a wonder what a few years and a new haircut will do to your appearance._

“Took you long enough,” Tulip said with a smirk, stretching out his hand in mock-greeting. “I don’t go by Ash, though. Too edgy for me.”

“Right, right, because there’s absolutely nothing wrong with _Tulip_ ,” Ash scorned, shaking it just as mockingly.

“Okay, first of all, there’s a perfectly valid reason for that,” Tulip said with a grimace. “You think you won’t get a nickname, hm?”

Ash shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t like nicknames.

Kitten. Lynx. Devil. Angel. Whore. Boss.

They’d never flattered him, and they’d certainly ceased to insult or wound him over time, but they were still awfully stifling; hell-bent on squashing him inside some sort of box that would leave his soul outside of it, separated from his body and floundering like a fish out of water.

Then again, it’s not like he didn’t jump halfway out of his skin whenever someone called him Aslan.

Griff used to call him that, before the monstrosity that was _Ash_ happened.

No, Tulip was right. ‘Ash’ was too edgy, but in the literal sense of the word. Sharp and jagged and primed to slice you open if you so much as dared to come too close, whether he wanted to or not.

It was a wonder Eiji hadn’t been cleaved in two just speaking his name.

Then again, how could he be, when he sanded the edges of ‘Ash’ with his soft accent; when he wrapped the venom it was associated with in his cotton-candy voice.

“Ash?”

There it was again. Cotton-candy and cherry soda.

“The nicknames are more for ease of communication and personal comforts than anything else,” Not-His-Eiji said patiently.

_Of course, you could tell. Why is it so easy for you to tell when it’s so hard for everybody else?_

“We have a lot of Ashs and Eijis here, and we run into each other quite often,” Not-His-Eiji continued. “There’s only so many things to call each other before things get incredibly confusing. So, we have nicknames, so that we can identify which Ash or Eiji we are referring to.”

_Okay. That’s perfectly reasonable. It’s a utility thing. Stop freaking out._

“Who-who picks them?” Ash asked hesitantly, wondering what he would remind the decision-maker of enough to make that his second name for eternity.

“Oh, no one does,” Not-His-Eiji replied easily, offering up a supportive smile. “It’s just based on whichever flower you drop from.”

“Say what?”

Not-His-Eiji chuckled softly, and it made Ash wonder what look of bewilderment he was sporting.

“Look up,” he said, pointing to the towering blooms that Ash had woken up to. “Those are the gateways from the different universes to here. When you enter the Afterlife, your flower bud opens, and you fall out. Tulip fell from a tulip, so that’s what he goes by. You fell from a sunflower, so that’ll be what we refer to you here, but no one will actually call you that to your face if you don’t like it.”

_Sunflower, huh?_

They’d driven past a whole field of them on their way to California. Ibe had been taking pictures of the views they’d driven past the whole time, but apparently the field had been good enough to stop for, and Max had wanted a break from driving anyway. It happened when Shorter jumped out the back of the truck and came up front to take the wheel. Ash had been standing by the worn picket fence that separated the field from the road, shaking the cramps out of his legs when he’d felt Eiji’s gaze on him.

It’d been a strange feeling, to not feel pinned and uneasy under someone’s eyes, but to flush awkwardly instead.

“What?” he’d squawked, the crack in his voice betraying him.

“Sunflower,” Eiji had said mellifluously, his eyes shifting from him to the flowers in the field. “You fit right in with them.”

Ash had blinked at him, completely thrown. Eiji had had a dreamy expression on his face, glazed from the afternoon sun; he’d looked the very definition of idyllic, with his legs drawn into his chest and head resting on his knees.

“What, just ‘cause of the hair?” he teased, to quieten the pounding in his chest. “Didn’t think you were that superficial, Eiji.”

“The hair is part of it, yes, but that is not all,” Eiji had replied with a laugh. “You like to watch the sun, yes, like they do?”

“Y-yes, but-”

“In Fukushima Prefecture in Japan, there was a nuclear disaster a few years ago. There was a lot of radiation in the surrounding area; in the rice, vegetables, water, everything. People were very sad and felt scared for their health. So Koyu Abe, a Buddhist monk, helped them plant sunflowers to draw the radiation from the soil and to raise their spirits.”

“What’s your point?” Ash had asked, intrigued but still unsure of where this was going.

“The point,” Eiji had proclaimed, leaning forward and extending his hand to help Ash into the truck, “is that sunflowers are good. And selfless because they keep people safe by taking all the harm on themselves. Like you.”

And Ash hadn’t had the words, for the way his heart had flipped in his chest, or the way his breath had hitched in his throat or the way his splintered soul had bawled in the confines of his body because Eiji was too naïve, too trusting, too kind, too good, to see him for the rampaging wounded animal he was.

So, he’d just said “You’re so weird”, and clasped his hand and climbed into the truck, and pretended that his skin didn’t tingle where Eiji’s had met it.

“Sunflower.”

Ash tested it on his tongue, then turned to Not-His-Eiji.

“I like it.”

A blinding smile met his uncertain one.

“I’m glad. It’s a very nice name.”

Ash’s smile became a little wider, a little surer. Ash was no stranger to compliments, well-intentioned or otherwise, but when Eiji said them they didn’t sound like compliments. They sounded like the plain and simple truth.

Sky is blue. Sunflowers are good. Ash is a sunflower. It’s a nice name.

And there was something exhilarating about that, something in the conviction of those statements that emboldened his next question.

“What’s your nickname?”

“Oh!” Not-His-Eiji exclaimed, slightly embarrassed. “I totally forgot to introduce myself! Really, you’d think after all this time, I’d be better about stuff like this. Well, no matter! We’ll start again.”

He stuck out his hand. Ash shook it.

“Hi Ash.”

Cotton candy and cherry soda and butter pecan.

“I’m Okumura Eiji, from U431W02A309! Here in the Afterlife, though, I go by Bluebell.”

Ash eyes widened even as Tulip stifled a giggle.

_It’s the Afterlife; no one ‘works’ for anyone here; it’s just Bluebell doing Bluebell things, at least in our neck of the woods._

“Told you Bluebell was a good guy,” Tulip snickered, clearly enjoying Ash’s slack-jawed amazement.

“You-you run the Afterlife?” Ash managed, half under his breath, still blinking at Bluebell like a goldfish.

“Not the _entire_ Afterlife,” Bluebell said shyly. “Just this place, and the docks and train station out of here.”

“Oh, speaking of the train station!” Tulip exclaimed, pulling out a pocket-watch from his slacks. “What’s the status of the Patch Express?”

“Last I checked, it was still ten minutes late,” Bluebell answered. “But it doesn’t hurt…”

“To be early. I know,” Tulip grumbled, with no ire in his voice. “One Eiji already went off on me; don’t you do it too.”

_Wait, what?_

“Yours is here?” Ash asked before he could stop himself.

Tulip seemed to hear the unsaid question in that and smiled sadly to himself. Suddenly he looked five years younger.

“Yeah. We died together.”

Well.

Well, then.

Needless to say, Ash didn’t know what to do with that.

He thought back to the dingy room at the warehouse, of feet resting next to each other under a rickety table, close but not touching. He thought of the quiet scraping of pencil on paper, of clumsily sounded syllables that Eiji had praised anyway because he truly hadn’t expected Ash to go out of his way to learn how to say, ‘How are you?’ in Japanese. He thought of Eiji’s panicked yell, how even when he’d shoved him out of the bullet’s path, he’d done it gently.

They might have died together too, in that room, if Eiji hadn’t done that.

There was some romance in that, morbid or otherwise, very Romeo and Juliet. He could’ve held Eiji in his arms, told him how much he loved him, how he was convinced now that at some point in his life he must have done something good, to deserve to have Eiji Okumura’s face be the last thing he saw.

Yes, there was some romance in that, except Ash didn’t like Romeo and Juliet.

_Early deaths by gunshot wounds in some dump, are for cheap whores and hoodlums like me._

_For Eiji, there is dying in his sleep or in a hospital surrounded by everyone who loves him at a ripe old age._

_How could you stand for less?_

_How could you just let him die?_

Once again, Tulip seemed acutely aware of what was going on in Ash’s head and cracked a watery smile that wasn’t fooling anybody. “I’ll tell you the story some other time, kid. Right now, I got a train to catch.”

Ash scanned the horizon. “Where even is the station?”

“It’s further up north,” Bluebell said, gesturing vaguely. “I can show it to you later if you’d like. Right now, I think it might be best to just bring you to your house. It’s getting late and I’m sure you’re hungry and tired.”

“I get a house?” Ash asked, only mildly aware of the childlike wonder seeping into his voice. “Just like that? For free?”

Bluebell smiled fondly, like summer sunshine after a storm. “Of course. There’s no trade-offs here.”

“Cool.” Ash couldn’t muster any other words.

“Right, I guess I’ll head out, then,” Tulip said with a decisive nod. “Good luck, kid. I hope you get to be some form of happy here,” he said to Ash with a sincere smile. “And Bluebell?”

“Yes?”

Tulip looked away, a bashful expression softening his features.

_Oh my God. Was I that obvious? No wonder everyone kidnapped Eiji._

“Um…”

“You don’t have to say it out loud if it’s too hard. I like letters.”

Tulip seemed to consider it. His gaze flicked to Ash for a moment, who truly didn’t know if he was meant to provide confidence or talk him out of it. Either way, Tulip seemed to come to a decision, and threw his arms around Bluebell.

“Thank you for everything. I…We… really appreciate it.”

Bluebell had clearly expected exactly this, because he simply huffed out a laugh and patted his back comfortingly.

“Take care of each other,” he said softly. “That is all I ask in return.”

“We’ll come back to visit soon,” Tulip promised.

“Take your time,” Bluebell assured. “We’ve got a long way to go still.”

With that, Tulip broke the embrace, and Bluebell stepped a foot away from him. When Ash didn’t move, he tugged his sleeve to get him to stand next to him. Tulip set the picnic basket on the ground and closed his eyes as a cold green glow began to illuminate him, a glow that quickly became a blaze.

“What the actual fuck is happening?” Ash whispered to Bluebell, who appeared totally unfazed.

“Oh, Tulip’s universe has skin changers,” he clarified with admiration in his voice. “Now that I think about it, that’s probably why he was hard for you to recognize. He was trapped in his other skin for almost a decade, so he’s not very used to his human skin. Naturally, he hates changing into that skin now, but it’s faster than his human skin for running, and he needs to run if he’s going to get to the station on time.”

“What’s his other skin?”

“Take a wild guess, kid.”

Tulip’s dry scoff penetrated the dying blaze, and Ash looked on dumbfounded as his new form came into view.

In hindsight, it really was a stupid question.

Because in place of Tulip, standing in a puddle of his clothes, was a lynx.

Ash took in the dull gold fur and electric green eyes, the razor-sharp claws and the stubby little tail that seemed entirely too cute for a predator.

_A genuine Ash Lynx. I wonder if they’d still call me that if they saw this._

“In every fucking universe, huh?” he laughed wryly.

“In every fucking universe!” Tulip agreed, smiling as well as he could; his pink tongue and blunt canines poking out.

Bluebell didn’t laugh; even his smile was severely muted. Before Ash could address it though, he went forward and began to fold the clothes on the ground. After he had packed them tightly into the basket, Tulip took the handles in his mouth and took a breath loaded with finality. A goodbye flashed in his eyes as he looked at them again, but Ash had one last question before he left.

“Hey, Tulip? What’s your Eiji’s skin?”

Tulip grinned, exposing more teeth. “Cottontail rabbit.”

With that, he turned away, and bounded off into the horizon.

_What?_

_How did he even let you near him?_

_Couldn’t he see what you were?_

“How the-how the fuck would that even work?” Ash mumbled wretchedly.

“Tulip Eiji’s skin broke a few years before he met Tulip Aslan. He couldn’t change into a rabbit if he tried. That’s how it worked,” Bluebell said quietly.

Ash looked at him, suddenly realizing that they were alone now, and his cotton candy voice was sweeter than ever.

“That’s not good enough to make it work,” Ash insisted with a pout. “He’d still be in danger around Tulip Aslan. That’s…that’s all we’re good for.”

Bluebell scrunched his nose, clearly displeased with the sentiment. “I respectfully disagree. Now come. I’m taking you to your house.”

And there was some familiarity in that, some peace in his huffy voice and stomping feet, in his fussing that always made Ash feel so cherished.

“You gonna make me run there too, old man?”

“Actually,” Bluebell replied with a rakish smirk. “We’re going to fly.”


	2. Conversations and Crocuses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday y'all!
> 
> Guess who managed to finish a chapter earlier then expected because inspiration decided to strike over finals week?  
> Anyways, thank you so much for all the support with Chapter 1; I am over the moon and so excited to write more of this fic.  
> Have fun y'all, and have yourself a lovely day wherever you are!
> 
> WARNINGS: Mild non-explicit references to: Ash's sexual trauma and eating disorder

Dreams, for Ash, had always been few and far between.

Night-time, by virtue of its characteristic darkness, had seemed to be reserved for nightmares of every variety; a grotesque highlight reel of his worst sins and most traumatic experiences stuck on repeat. These had been exceedingly common.

Daytime, however, was the dominion of dreams.

They would come when he’d accidently fall asleep in the glare of his computer or pass out on the bed with his shoes on after stumbling back to the hideout at 6 AM. These had been rare; there’d been only so much time during his quest for vengeance for catnaps, after all. But in those moments where his strained, protesting body would force him into a slumber, there’d always been a dream waiting for him, tinted rosy-pink and dusted with icing sugar.

Before Eiji, the dreams had been built solely from memories.

Some memories had been well-worn and wafer-thin, distant and fuzzy with the decay of a childhood he’d struggled to remember. Memories of plastic buckets brimming with seashells; of bedtime stories starring dragons and goblins; of Thanksgiving dinners concluded with slightly burnt pie.

Memories of Griffin.

Other memories had been newer and painted in brighter colours, cavernous and echoing with adrenaline-infused laughter. Memories of inconsequential bets placed on pool tournaments; of brand-new overalls that everyone had chipped in to buy; of bright purple hair dye that had made a mess in the tiny bathroom above Chang Dai.

Memories of the gang. Skip. Shorter.

All good dreams, all gone entirely too soon.

And then there’d been the dreams of Eiji.

Some of those had been woven from memories too; memories of makeshift bandages tied hesitantly over arm wounds in the dark; of climbing trees in the summer sunshine; of earth-shattering promises made in the flickering lamplight.

All excellent dreams, all guarded fiercely by his mind.

But the dreams he liked best, were the ones spun from his wishful thinking.

In those dreams, Eiji would carry him in his arms, not to toss him under the cold spray of the shower to wake him up, but just to hold him close. In those dreams, they would fly together through a pale blue sky; the sun would not burn them, and the ground would be forgotten. In those dreams, Eiji would smile and show him the world as he’d never seen it and say so easily all the words that had always seemed to die in Ash’s throat.

_Even if the world turns on you, I’ll always be on your side._

And these were the dreams that would linger long after sleep had been chased away.

This, right now, was like all those dreams rolled into one, except it was very much real.

Bluebell was carrying him, one arm hooked under his knees and the other arm supporting his back. Ash’s own arms were around his neck, clutching his collar and taking care not to obstruct his wings. Because it was his wings, flapping gracefully, that were lifting them up into the sky; a sky that had faded to periwinkle-blue now that the sun was gone.

Ash watched them move over Bluebell’s shoulder, feathers more dark grey than black in the hazy light. They were so elegant; so strong; so sure; Ash trusted them completely. Now that he thought about it, he’d felt the same way about Eiji’s hands when they’d wrapped themselves around that rusty pipe, although he’d been fresh out of words to describe what he was feeling at the time.

But this time he was able to put a name to that feeling.

Reverence.

He was just as reverent now as he had been on the wharf by the East River, when those hands had launched a boy – made from a sincere desire to help and a stubborn will to back it up – over a wall that he hadn’t even thought possible to cross.

Even the smidgen of jealousy that he’d been conscious of then wasn’t there this time, because it was both of them up here now, soaring away from the grassy ground into the cool embrace of the sky. It was so empty here, yet he was so full, weightless and breathing in fits of laughter.

How very surreal and eternal this experience was, with no thugs on his tail and no inevitable fall to make it stop.

Bluebell didn’t take them too high up; they were still weaving between the enormous blossoms that were omnipresent here. The plants reminded Ash of the illustration of ‘Jack and the Beanstalk’ on the cover of the fairy tale omnibus he’d received from Griff on his sixth birthday. Except this was even better because there was no evil Giant here, only flowers. They burst from their buds in every colour of the rainbow, and every colour a rainbow couldn’t provide. Even the ones that weren’t open were beautiful; Bluebell flew by them slowly so that Ash could take in every intricacy of the tough green calyx that hid pretty petals and prettier universes. The illustration had also included the golden-egg-laying goose, but Bluebell was better than that bird would ever be, expertly dodging leaves and hovering close to the petals so Ash could run his fingers over them.

“What is this place?” he whispered in fascination as they went past a daffodil.

Bluebell smiled down at him. “It’s our place. It’s called the Flowerbed. It’s where every Ash and every Eiji from every world come after they die. The universe is kind like that.”

_The universe is kind, huh?_

Now this Ash had to hear.

“Kind how?” he said sardonically.

Bluebell raised an eyebrow with a pout. “It puts soulmates together in the Afterlife.”

If ever there had been a way to shut Ash up when he had ten different rebuttals already formulated in his brain, this was it.

“…Huh?” he said at length.

Bluebell smirked, clearly enjoying himself. It appeared that regularly reducing Ash to a blushing mess was an activity that all Eijis liked to indulge in.

Ash could see him now in his mind’s eye. Painted in colours of shadow and sunset, his eyes blown wide, and lips slightly parted in joyous disbelief.

_Even if I sent you back to Japan, I’d still be worried to death about you._

_So, I’d rather have you here, where I can see you._

It’d been one of the few times he’d been vocal with his affections and it’d been far more difficult than it’d had any right to be. In all honesty Ash had always found it easier to jump in the line of fire than sit next to one and even attempt to explain to Eiji how much it meant to him that he was by his side.

And after all that, what had he said?

_I like that. Say it again._

And Ash had harrumphed and changed the subject, because Eiji had this smug smile on his face, and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to get the words out again without spontaneously combusting anyway.

_The nerve. The absolute fucking nerve of Eiji Okumura._

Then again, it had taken Eiji three promptings and fifteen whole seconds to say anything at all, and even then, Ash was sure it wasn’t just the light from the window that was making his face all pink. Now that he thought about it, his face had stayed pink while making dinner too, and he’d sounded a bit breathless every time Ash asked him a question.

_I suppose I can forgive him._

_God knows there was plenty of stuff he said that I’d like to hear on repeat._

“…Ash? Are you good?”

“Hm? Yeah, yeah I’m here.”

Bluebell’s giggles drowned in the wind and resurfaced near his ears. “Why’re you so shocked? You cannot tell me this soulmate thing is new information.”

“I-it’s not, not really,” Ash said sheepishly. “I just…we never…called it that. We didn’t really have the time to acknowledge...us. Plus, I didn’t really think those were real…or…that someone like me…would have one.”

“Of course, you have one. You’re incredible.”

_How would you know?_

_You don’t even know what I’ve done._

“Ask any Eiji you like,” Bluebell continued firmly, intent on shutting down that avenue of discussion for good. “We count ourselves very lucky, that our soul is linked to someone so fiercely loyal, brave and kind.”

_Is your Ash like that? He sounds like a dream._

Ash wondered what words his Eiji would use to describe him, when another hesitant Ash who didn’t feel certain that he deserved this slice of heaven would ask him if he was happy with his soulmate.

_My soul is always with you._

_You said that all on your own. It was one of the last things you said to me._

_I know you wouldn’t say it if you didn’t mean it._

“Are you sure you aren’t just saying that?” Ash said in a small voice. “Ab-about the souls being linked?”

“Absolutely positive,” Bluebell insisted. “Soulmates are very real, Ash. The entire Afterlife is structured around them.”

“What do you mean?” Ash asked, his interest piqued.

“Here, let’s go higher,” Bluebell muttered. Ash felt soft gusts of air on the back of his hands from the powerful beats of his wings as they ascended a couple hundred feet in silence.

“Look over at your one o’clock,” he said, when they were flying comfortably above even the highest flower head.

Ash looked, his eyes settling on a sprawling domed building that stood next to twin brown lines that emerged from the west and twisted into the east. At intervals, there were matchstick-sized structures on either side of them. The light was almost gone now, so it took a little peering, but Ash managed to figure out what he was looking at.

“Is that the train station?”

“Mhm,” Bluebell confirmed, following his gaze. “It leads out of the Flowerbed and to other soulmate islands. So do the docks, on your seven o’clock.”

Ash turned as much as he was able, for the first-time catching sight of a deep blue-green sea to the south; a sea that was calm and vast and no doubt looked magical in the noonday sun. He could see the piers protruding from the landmass, and the irregularly shaped boats that were moored on either side of them.

“So, there’s other places like this one?” Ash inquired, turning back to Bluebell. “What’d you call them, soulmate islands?”

“That’s right,” Bluebell affirmed. “Everyone in the Afterlife has a soulmate, and that’s who they have their permanent home with, on a soulmate island. Every island is different; they have different landscapes, different amenities, and even different organizational structures. The only thing they have in common, is that they’re all equipped with transportation out, so people can go visit friends and family on other islands.”

Huh. The teary-eyed goodbye with Tulip from before was making a lot more sense now.

_We’ll come back to visit soon._

“Is that what Tulip Aslan and Tulip Eiji are doing?”

“Oh, yes!” Bluebell said brightly. “They recently received news that their Michael was finally here as well. They’d decided to wait till everyone they knew had passed over to start visiting, so now they’re making a big adventure out of it. Tulip Aslan’s good at hiding it, but he’s been squealing into pillows for a while about how excited he is about the whole thing.”

“How do you even know something like that?” Ash hissed, the second-hand embarrassment hitting him harder than he liked.

“What, you think Eijis don’t tell each other anything?” Bluebell responded with a wink.

Ash narrowed his eyes at him. “God, I swear, when my Eiji gets here, I’m keeping him away from you.”

“I’d like to see you try!” Bluebell snickered, banking hard past a daisy, just to jostle Ash, who promptly tightened his grip on shirt and yelped unflatteringly.

“You’re such an ass!” he complained, trying and failing to keep a smile off his face, even as Bluebell’s lilting laughter bled into the air.

_How long has it been since I heard that laugh?_

_Probably not since I told the pumpkin story._

Eiji’s laughter had always been a strange thing; Ash had tried and failed to understand it.

For one thing it had always seemed to burst out of him, splintering his reserved polite shell in a way that had almost made Ash jump when he’d first heard it. It’d also been a lot louder than his speaking voice, pitched higher and composed of adorable sounds and breaths strung together in a delicate melody. His diffused soothing smiles had been commonplace; and giggles and snickers had certainly sprung up here and there, but straight-up belly laughs like windchimes and mountain brooks?

Now those had been rare.

The weird thing was, they’d never come out when Eiji thought something was funny. If anything, he’d make a big show of not laughing at Ash’s jokes, just to razz him. No, they’d only ever come out, Ash realized with a start, when he’d been genuinely enjoying himself.

Over breakfast with Shorter. Shorter and him.

While fishing at Cape Cod. With him.

At _his_ hideout eating takeout, with _him_ , while he told one of _his_ stories.

It was a warm syrupy feeling for Ash, to finally grasp that some of Eiji’s most unbridled moments of joy, had been with him.

It was a feeling quickly replaced by a jolt of alarm however, because the other weird thing about Eiji’s laughter, is that something always went wrong right after.

They were flying past a crocus bloom when it happened. The closed bud in front of them lurched forward without warning, and Bluebell jerked away from it, pulling Ash closer to his chest. A few more feet and it would have knocked them out of the sky.

Without a word, he veered sharply away from the threat even as Ash’s fingers curled into his shirt collar.

“Bluebell? What’s happening?!”

Ash’s initial shock had now morphed into panic, as he watched the bud thrash wildly like it was trying to shake an invisible film off itself. They were a safe distance away now, but Ash could feel the disruption in the wind its tossing and turning was making, and he didn’t like it one bit.

Bluebell was quiet, observing the whole thing carefully. He didn’t look frightened or surprised, which brought some comfort to Ash, but he did look concerned and contemplative.

“What’re you waiting for?” Ash asked imploringly.

“I’m waiting to see if it will stop anytime soon,” Bluebell murmured, not looking at him.

As if on cue, the crocus plant’s stem twisted one final time, then relaxed. The bud lolled forward, and then returned slowly to its original position. Bluebell heaved a sigh of relief, and then began flying forward again as if nothing had happened.

“The fuck was that?”

Bluebell managed a brief smile, though Ash could see he was a little rattled.

“That is what happens when someone’s in danger of dying,” he explained. “A quick burst like that one means a short near-death experience. Like a car accident that could’ve killed you but didn’t, or closely dodging a bullet, you know?”

Oh, yeah. Ash knew.

“What does it mean if it keeps going?”

“Slow death,” Bluebell said, averting his gaze from Ash’s. “Like a sickness, or…”

_Oh. OH._

“Bleeding out for hours.”

Ash’s voice came out so hoarse and hushed he barely recognized it.

Bluebell looked at him then, and Ash could see in his eyes all the pain and sorrow and helplessness that had glistened in his Eiji’s eyes when he’d caught sight of him from the top of that overpass in Coney Island, Arthur’s blood on one hand and his own on the other.

_Oh my God, you stood there and watched it, didn’t you?_

_You stood there and watched it happen every time someone beat me within an inch of my life after they’d had their fun with me, every time I got in a gunfight, that whole month that I lived on an IV._

_You stood there and watched that sunflower squirm and writhe for God knows how long till it bloomed, and I fell out._

_How many times did you think I was going to die before I actually did?_

Ash opened his mouth to apologize for making him worry, but Bluebell spoke first.

“I’m so…unbelievably sorry… that you were so hurt in your lifetime.” It seemed he couldn’t really get more out but was trying to anyway. “I wish he could have protected you. I know he would’ve wanted to, more than anything.”

_I know you are much smarter than me, and bigger, and stronger – but even so – I always felt like I had to protect you._

“It’s not his fault. It was going to happen one way or another,” Ash said quietly. “If anything, he made the end…really peaceful. He wrote me this lovely letter; I was going to go to him but…”

It was happening again. The words were getting stuck in his chest.

_Where do I even start?_

_Should I even start?_

He must have been silent longer than he thought he was, because Bluebell was already shaking his head and sending a comforting smile his way.

“You don’t have to go into it right now. Or ever. You can do it when you’re ready. You can tell me as much, or as little as you like, Ash. I am here either way.”

And what a novel concept that was: to have people that were there for him, just because.

Ash had only just started to get used to it in the living world. Maybe he could get used to it here too.

God knows, he wanted to.

“Okay.”

\---

On the outside, Ash’s house looked like every other residence in the Flowerbed.

It was a ranch-style home, single-storeyed and complete with a wrap-around porch. The charcoal and white colour scheme made it look striking against the golden-brown of the grass below his feet, and as they climbed up the little staircase to the door, Ash found himself running his hands gingerly over the railing.

As him and Bluebell approached the door, he noticed it had a sunflower printed on it. Under that, there were two blank silver plates.

“This,” Bluebell announced, “is where you put your name on the house. Just put your hand on the name plate, like this,” he paused to demonstrate, “and say your name.”

Ash exhaled softly. He didn’t quite know why his hands were shaking as his fingertips met the cool metal.

“Aslan J. Callenreese.”

He withdrew his hands as solid black text materialized on the plate in neat cursive.

“There you go,” Bluebell said sunnily. “Now open the door.”

“Don’t I need keys or something?” Ash asked, looking over his shoulder at him.

“You are the key,” Bluebell said with a wave of his hands. “Here in the Flowerbed, the door to a house only opens for its specific soulmate pair. No one else can turn the doorknob.”

Ash nodded slightly in understanding, then twisted around to face the door again. The last time he’d had a house, he was eight years old, and even then, it’d been his father’s house, not his. After running away, all he’d had were crumbling motel rooms that reeked of sex and cigarettes, gilded prisons inside mansions built from dirty money and dingy hideouts in the nooks and crannies of New York City. There had only ever been one place that had felt truly like his house.

He hoped, as he turned the doorknob soundlessly and swung the door open, that this house would measure up to it.

_Oh._

_I guess there’s no comparison to make._

It was their apartment. The one him and Eiji had shared in the condo he’d bought on 59th Avenue.

Their living room walls were this same salmon pink shade, and their dining table was in the same place. There were the same thirteen apples in the basket on the counter, and the same soulless geometric art piece on the wall above the television. The floor to ceiling windows had been replaced by French sliding ones that led into the porch, but the curtains that covered them were made of the same opulent purple velvet.

“Go on,” Bluebell encouraged. “Take a look around.”

And he wanted to, so much, but it took two whole minutes for Ash to even move.

When he was able to galvanize his brain into action, he took off his shoes and placed them by the door next to the empty space where Eiji’s grey running shoes always sat. Wandering from room to room almost in a daze, he took in everything that was there, exactly as he’d left it, and everything that wasn’t.

His study was there, with all the volumes of his encyclopaedias packed snugly into the bookshelf and his trusty laptop sitting on the desk. Eiji’s photography equipment was missing though, as was his organized stack of manga.

The laundry room and walk-in closet were there too, with his ‘Chris Winston’ clothes organized by colour and a pile of his unwashed white t-shirts resting on top of the washing machine. One of his jeans was on the floor, next to his battered red Chucks. But there was no jasmine-scented fabric softener here; no weird bird shirts; no pyjama sets.

And of course, the bedroom was there, with its neatly made twin beds. The sheets were different though; the blue and white ones Eiji had picked out had been replaced with the yellow and orange ones that’d come with the beds. Even their nightstand, which often had two cans of beer on it, was lacking Eiji’s Budweiser.

_It’s as if he was never here._

_It’s as if I made us up all in my head._

“Well, Ash? Do you like it?”

Bluebell just asked him something. He must’ve come back into the living room. He couldn’t really tell. His eyes were glued to the wood-panelled floor.

Did he like it? Of course, he did. It was the only place that had ever felt like his house. But…

“It’s cold.”

_Oh, great job, Ash._

_What the fuck was that? It doesn’t even make sense; it’s like seventy degrees in here._

_He just gave you a house, idiot._

_Don’t be ungrateful. He’s being so nice and here you are whining about things he can’t do anything about._

“I-I mean...it’s not that I don’t like it,” Ash rushed to clarify to Bluebell’s feet. “Because I do; I really do, and I wouldn’t want anywhere else…not that I’m asking for anywhere else…or-or expecting it…it’s just that…um…”

_Make words happen, damn it!_

_It’s not that hard to say it doesn’t feel right without him!_

_That he was the one who put the light and comfort and warmth in a bare-bones apartment._

_Now say something coherent before Bluebell gets upset._

“I know how you feel.”

Bluebell, Ash was quickly discovering, was very good at halting his spirals, whether he was having one out loud or not, and in the most unlikeliest of ways.

He peeked up at him and was startled to find him smiling back. It was a feeble thing, laced with yearning in the same way that the parched cracking ground would be before for the first spring rain.

“My place is cold, too.”

It took Ash a few moments to register what he was saying.

_He’s not here, is he? Your Ash._

“How do you do it?” he asked, almost afraid to know the answer. “Live without someone in a place that belongs to both of you?”

“You keep busy, and you add things for them to find when they do get here,” Bluebell replied sagely. “That’s why I run the Flowerbed and sit around learning about Earth. I intend on showing him just how many times some version of him has been featured in a European painting.”

Ash laughed weakly.

A story came to mind; something about an angel on a holiday card.

“And you promise that strategy works a hundred percent of the time?” he probed half-jokingly.

Bluebell shrugged, some of the tension in the room dissipating as he pretended to think about it.

“If it doesn’t, there’s always chamomile tea,” he offered optimistically. “Want me to make you a cup before I go?”

“I’ve never had any,” Ash responded truthfully. He was a coffee person, and his Eiji was big on ginger green tea. “But it doesn’t hurt to try.”

\---

Eiji, Ash had learned, was generous with everything.

His generosity with his time and energy was obvious to everyone.

He’d make multiple stints to the supermarket just for the right kind of bell pepper, because it would make a dish marginally better. He would trade recipes with their neighbours and prepare elaborate three-course meals arranged neatly on table mats – sometimes Japanese, sometimes American – Ash’s griping be damned. He’d even regularly bake treats for the gang, everything from chocolate-chip cookies to macaroons.

His generosity with his mercy and warmth, however, was Ash’s alone to hold close.

After Shorter’s death, he had sworn an eternity to Ash, even though he hadn’t asked for more than the foreseeable future. Post Kippard’s assassination, he had taken out the blood stains from his shirt and held his hands until they stopped shaking without even asking for what happened. And when Ash’s nightmare-induced insomnia would have him staring vacantly out of the window in the wee hours of the morning, he would roll out of bed, brew up some of his green tea, and sit by him till he drained his cup, even if he told him to go back to sleep.

His Eiji had always done his tea-brewing in silence, bouncing from one foot to the other as the water boiled, as if to a beat only he could hear.

Bluebell on the other hand, liked to sing.

The words were foreign to Ash, but the language had an up-tempo rhythm to it that gave him the impression it was a hopeful song. But the meaning didn’t make him catch his breath so much as Bluebell’s voice did, high and clear as a bell, tinged with a sense of melancholy that was almost hypnotic.

“You’re pretty good,” Ash remarked from where he sat on the kitchen counter, swinging his legs absently. He figured the compliment would make Bluebell shy like the one about his wings did, but instead he just chuckled knowingly.

“I should hope so,” he replied with a hint of pride. “I used to be a performer.”

Ash took a moment to wrap his head around that as Bluebell splayed his fingers on the table and asked for chamomile tea mix. It materialized in his hands just as the teapot and saucepan had; apparently any inanimate object could be requested from the Afterlife as if it were a wish-granting genie.

“What kind of performer?” he questioned, trying to imagine it.

“It’s hard to explain,” Bluebell replied, carefully transferring the mix to the teapot. “You don’t really have that kind of thing on Earth. It’s like…think of a cross between the circus and the cabaret.”

_Well._

_That’s certainly an image._

“Anyway, I sang some minor numbers, but I was mainly an acrobat; in my world you needed to have some amount of seniority to be given the chance to sing the lead.”

Oh, Ash could see it now.

Bluebell, tastefully adorned in sparkles and silk, diving and somersaulting through the air as if gravity was meaningless, leaving the remnants of his mesmerizing song on the air like an ephemeral siren of the sky.

He envisioned him to be like Christine Daaé from The Phantom of the Opera the first time he sang, merely covering for the lead during a crisis only to end up having the audience decide they wanted to hear no one else for the rest of their lives.

_…Wait a minute._

“I bet that’s how you and your Ash met, wasn’t it?” he questioned, the notion suddenly occurring to him. “At one of your performances?”

Bluebell flushed the colour of pomegranate seeds.

“No! Well, kind of, but it didn’t exactly count; we just sort of looked at each other for a bit and…,” he rambled nervously, accidently splashing some of the hot water on himself as he poured it over the tea mix.

A mischievous grin spread across Ash’s face. So, this was what got Bluebell properly flustered.

_Duly noted, Bluebell. Duly noted._

“How did you know?” Bluebell asked, gathering himself together enough to glare at him.

“Educated guess,” Ash answered, trying to feign nonchalance. “I know how I felt when I saw my Eiji pole-vault, so…I figured that your Ash…might’ve had a moment like that too.”

Bluebell looked nonplussed for a moment, then broke into giggles. “Honestly, all of you are the same. Trying to act all cool and aloof even though you’re full of blue raspberry sorbet and marshmallow fluff and candy apples inside. Don’t even bother denying it.”

And oh, how Ash wanted to.

He wanted to deny it so much; he wanted to tell Bluebell all about how there was nothing inside him except gunpowder and bile and extravagant wine he had never wanted to learn to recognize.

But he just couldn’t open his mouth.

_Because I want to be full of blue raspberry sorbet and marshmallow fluff and candy apples inside._

_So bad._

_So very, very, bad._

“Is that your best pick-up line?” he snorted, defaulting to the safety of banter. “Seems a little much, Bluebell, but okay.”

Bluebell shook his head in fond exasperation and leaned on kitchen counter as he waited for the tea to steep. “Go ahead and make your jokes,” he said with a playful smile, “But I’ve been around Ashs for a hundred and twenty-four years. You cannot fool me.”

And there was a retort for that, one that Ash had ready, but there was something in what Bluebell said that made the comment freeze in his throat.

“A hundred and twenty-four years?” he repeated, aghast. “You’ve been here…without him…for a hundred and twenty-four years?”

Bluebell’s smile grew grave, but obstinately didn’t leave his face.

“The winged people of my world are biologically immortal,” he expounded. “We don’t die unless it’s from injury, disease or a deficiency of natural resources. Our average lifespan is around two hundred and fifty years, and, if everything continues to go as I left it, then my Aslan is going to have an above average lifespan.”

“That…that is just…”

_Not okay._

_Yeah, there’s no other words for it._

_Ash dies and Eiji lives is okay._

_Ash and Eiji die together isn’t ideal but whatever._

_But Eiji dies, and Ash lives?_

_That…that is just…no._

_Just no._

“I don’t understand,” Ash confessed miserably. Why was he just now registering this? “ _That’s_ how your world works, and he let something like this happen anyway? What the hell was he doing? Why didn’t he do a better job of protecting you? Why didn’t he-”

“Don’t speak about him that way. I won’t have it.”

Ash blanched. This was the first time he’d seen Eiji look seriously mad. His lips were pressed into a thin line, his arms were crossed defensively across his chest, and his eyes were completely opaque. There was no malice in his voice, but Ash heard the warning in it loud and clear. He clammed up immediately, guilty and slightly befuddled.

Bluebell seemed to realize then that he had freaked him out, because he turned away for a moment and took in a deep breath to compose himself.

“He protected me just fine, Ash,” he said after a nerve-wracking moment. “I’d never felt safer than I did during the five years I was by his side. Even right up until the end, he made sure to cover all his bases; he made sure to think of everything.”

“So then, how?” Ash urged despondently. “Why?”

“Well, for all his towering intellect, my Aslan managed to ignore one very important thing.”

Ash waited with bated breath. “What was it?”

_Tell me._

_Tell me what it was, so that I can yell at him for it whenever he does get here._

“That I’d want to protect him too.”

Bluebell smiled then, and this smile was familiar to Ash in ways he never wanted to be familiar with it. His Eiji had smiled at him like that, body limp, lying on the floor of a dilapidated warehouse, in a shirt more red than pink.

_Ash. You’re safe. Good._

Bluebell scanned his flummoxed face, brows raised and almost teasing again.

“What? You did not seriously think that I’d just sit by and watch him get hurt when I knew there was something I could do about it?”

And as much as he wanted to argue, Ash _couldn’t_ seriously think that.

Of course, he couldn’t, because what the fuck had his Eiji said to him literally ten minutes before he’d gotten shot?

_I don’t want to lose you._

_I’d do anything for you._

Hell, if anything, Ash should’ve anticipated it.

Because Eiji – Ash had fathomed once the initial feral rage and heart-crushing anguish had drained out of him– was the most generous of all with his words, and his life.

“Would you…if you could go back and…”

“I would make that choice every single time, Ash,” Bluebell interrupted, his eyes burning with conviction. “He would do it in a heartbeat for me, and I’m sure you would too, for your Eiji.”

“Obviously, but-”

“Then why is it so hard to believe that we would do the same for you?”

“Because Bluebell!” Ash wailed with balled fists. “We’re not…worth that.”

Bluebell sighed, like he’d had this conversation before, then pulled a teacup from the air and silently poured his tea.

“Yes, you are.”

He said it simply, without flourishes or fanfare, like a fact of life.

Sky is blue. Ash is worth it.

“Even if you don’t see it yet, you will one day, and then we will stand next to you, and say we told you so. We see you, Ash.”

_We know that._

_Why do you think we’re so madly in love with you?_

Bluebell gave him one more smile, one that started a spark when his lips moved and set off fireworks when it reached his eyes.

“Now please, drink your tea before it gets cold, and go to bed. It’s been a long couple of days for you; I’m sure you could use the rest.”

So, Ash drank, sitting cross-legged on the kitchen counter, as Bluebell gave him last-minute details about the house, and where to find him if he needed anything. He then left him some maps on the table and wished him a good night.

“Sleep well, Ash,” he said with a wave as he went out the door, and for the first time since Ash had woken up here, it was quiet again.

He stared for a moment into his empty cup, then tossed it into the sink. Leaping lithely off the counter, he stretched his limbs with a low groan. Then, he cast his eyes to the clock hanging over the sofa.

Eight-thirty.

It was still early. A shower first then, before bed.

Maybe he could even start a new book. Just a chapter; nothing too crazy.

That was a good plan. A low-key evening.

Ash knew he had many things to do. He had to resolve his complicated relationship with himself; he had to confront his demons; he had to learn more about life in the Flowerbed; he had to go see all the people he’d lost.

But that was for later. He had time.

For now, though, a rest sounded nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it! Comments are always appreciated; I love hearing about people's Banana Fish insights.  
> Okay bye, see you next update :))

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it! Comments are always appreciated; I am starved for that Banana Fish discourse; let's chat y'all.  
> Okay bye, see you next update :))


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